


Got It Where it Counts

by Lynchy8



Series: Fun (and sad!) little drabbles [36]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: All Aboard the Star Ship ExR, Body modifications, Captain Enjolras, In space no one can hear you scream revolution, M/M, One Shot, R is a scruffy looking nerferder, Space AU, biomechanic R
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:22:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27661297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynchy8/pseuds/Lynchy8
Summary: Feuilly was good – the best – but even he had to admit defeat in the face of the sheer scale of problems, lack of parts, and a near-direct hit from a photon cannon. Enjolras looked around his crew.“Any ideas?”After their latest skirmish with the Stellar Militia, the crew of the Star Ship  are in desperate need of a safe port to make some pretty urgent repairs. Luckily Bahorel knows a guy who owes him a favour.Space AU where Enjolras is the Captain, and R is the best biomechanic in the galaxy.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Series: Fun (and sad!) little drabbles [36]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/62784
Comments: 7
Kudos: 65





	Got It Where it Counts

**Author's Note:**

> Hello folks, it's certainly been a while.
> 
> I wrote this in May 2019, and it has been sitting on my computer since then, potentially never to see the light of day. But then I got my Les Mis Staged Concert DVD in the post, and decided to brave posting another fic.
> 
> I don't think anything needs tagging, but as always if anyone would like something tagged please let me know

“We need to find a port”

Enjolras exhaled, even though Combeferre wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know. They’d needed a port about three months ago when the starboard engine started making that clunking sound on take-off. The _Liberty_ was a strong ship, but since their last skirmish with the Stellar Militia, two of the fuel pumps were refusing to move, and according to Feuilly the Star Drive would not survive more than one last jump. 

Feuilly was good – the best – but even he had to admit defeat in the face of the sheer scale of problems, lack of parts, and a near-direct hit from a photon cannon. Enjolras looked around his crew.

“Any ideas?”

You couldn’t just land at any old port. Even those not officially affiliated with the Royal Star Command weren’t guaranteed to be free of Militia. Expectant faces turned in Combeferre’s direction, the Navigation Officer already pulling up charts on the screen.

“There’s nothing locally,” he mused, looking at the uninhabited planetoids and moons in their immediate vicinity. A final jump seemed inevitable. 

“Courf?” Enjolras, turned to his pilot who shrugged in a “give me a direction and I’ll fly her” sort of way.

Ferre scrolled to the next system over, and the one after that. There were a few planets, and some even had settlements extensive enough that they might be able to get parts to fix the Star Drive, but there were no guarantees. Things were looking more and more bleak, as the crew shuffled uneasily.

“I might know a guy,” Bahorel spoke up, voicing his words slowly into the silence, as if he hadn’t fully committed to it being a good idea to say anything. 

“Might?” Enjolras frowned because ‘might’ was not a very comforting word. Bahorel pursed his lips and shrugged. 

“He’s the best mechanic I know.” There was a sharp gasp as the crew collectively turned to Feuilly, but far from seeming insulted, Feuilly leant forward.

“Er… is that a good idea?” he seemed to be trying to communicate something with his eyes, but Bahorel was studiously avoiding his gaze.

“Well, he does owe me a favour,” he replied, “And he’s safe.” Bahorel spoke the last bit with conviction. Enjolras considered. The temperature in the engine room was creeping to critical. They needed a port. And Bahorel said this person was safe…

“Where’s he based?” Combeferre interrupted Enjolras’s train of thought. Bahorel winced.

“Corinthe” Feuilly replied for him, still glaring in Bahorel’s direction. Immediately a clamour of protests broke out. Enjolras rubbed his eyes.

Corinthe was right in the heart of Sovereign territory, and sat in the shadow of the Tuileries Space Station. It invited trouble. 

“The planet is unaffiliated,” Bahorel argued, holding his hands up. 

“It doesn’t need to be!” Joly retorted, almost purple in the face. “It sits in its shadow. You may as well ask His Majesty’s men to repair the ship!” Bossuet patted his shoulder, comfortingly. Behind him Courf was watching the room, shaking his head.

“He’s no Royalist, I can assure you,” Feuilly spoke up, and Bahorel shot him a grateful look. Joly let out a disbelieving snort, and Enjolras sighed. He turned to Combeferre, seeking guidance. The room was divided, with both sides making good points, but Enjolras was Captain and he made the final call. Combeferre looked back at the star chart.

“You say he’s the best?”

“The best,” Feuilly and Bahorel echoed in unison. Combeferre shrugged.

“If we can try to enter undercover, not advertise our presence to the Militia…” Enjolras nodded in agreement, before turning to Bahorel who was muttering with Feuilly. Catching Enjolras’s eye, he stood up and walked to the Com Desk, sitting down and cracking his knuckles.

“Better let him know we’re coming,” he said gruffly to no one in particular. He paused for a moment, staring at the blank screen, before typing in the recipient details. The Com Desk buzzed and beeped angrily, but Bahorel continued, and eventually the green cursor flashed to show he was connected.

MESSAGE SENT: R IT’S ME. 

The reply, to Enjolras’s surprise, came almost immediately. 

MESSAGE RECD: NO WE’RE CLOSED

Bahorel huffed, but he smiled before typing a reply.

MESSAGE SENT: I’M CALLING IN THAT FAVOUR

This time there was a long pause. The room was still, everyone waiting holding their breath and watching the Com screen. Finally it pinged with an answer.

MESSAGE RECD: FINE. DOCK RAMBUTEAU ASK FOR BAY 12 MEET YOU THERE

Bahorel sat back, exhaling with relief, and Enjolras nodded in satisfaction. 

“I guess we’re setting a course for Corinthe.”

+

The Star Drive sparked as the _Liberty_ slowed down from the jump, arriving in orbit above the surface of Corinthe, while a strong smell of burnt connectors filtered through the air ducts. Feuilly and Bahorel exchanged a look. 

“This is the HMSS Green Star, “Courfeyrac hailed Ground Control, using one of their covert signals, “seeking permission to land at Dock Rambuteau, using Bay 12 for routine maintenance.”

“HMSS Green Star, stand by,” Ground Control acknowledged. They remained in orbit, waiting for their clearance. Courfeyrac was calm, focused on flying the ship, but Combeferre drummed his fingers, trying to work out how to make an emergency exit without a working Star Drive, should the need arise.

“HMSS Green Star,” the radio crackled, “you are cleared for landing, bay 12.” Courfeyrac confirmed, and began to steer the _Liberty_ into descent. They cleared re-entry, and made their way through the landing corridor towards the port. The NavCom flashed with the co-ordinates for bay 12, and in a few moments they touched down. Courfeyrac sighed with relief. Through the windshield they could make out a figure by the landing pad, waiting in the shadows.

Bahorel was first to the hatch, sliding a Comms earpiece into place whilst keying in the code to lower the ramp. Daylight spilled inside, and he disappeared into the light. Enjolras followed him, blinking as he descended to the landing pad. At the bottom, waiting for them with arms folded, was a tall, lanky man in an oil-stained boiler suit. He shook his head as Bahorel approached him, but his face was contorted into a smile.

“Bahorel,” he greeted. “It hasn’t been even nearly long enough!” Bahorel laughed at him, wrapping him into a hug which was returned, apparently whole-heartedly. This was obviously R. As Enjolras neared the bottom of the ramp, the man’s gaze fell upon him. R paused just for a moment, staring, then he swatted at Bahorel’s arm. “The next time you want a favour,” he admonished, “you open with the Golden Headed God on your ship!”

“Excuse me?!” Enjolras stalked the rest of the way down, outrage bubbling, but R stepped forward, dropping into a bow.

“Hello, I am Grantaire and I will be your extremely helpful mechanic for this evening,” he proclaimed. Enjolras just stared at him, trying to decide if he was being made fun of, and then jumped slightly as Feuilly pushed past him.

“He thinks he’s being funny,” Feuilly rolled his eyes, before poking Grantaire in the side, and pulling him into a hug. “Hey man, how’s it going?”

Joly, Bossuet, Jehan, Ferre and Courf, appeared at the top of the gangway, peering down in curiosity at their welcoming party. There was a brief round of introductions, and Feuilly gestured up towards the troubled ship.

“I’m afraid you’ll have your work cut out for you here,” he said, nodding up at the _Liberty_. R followed his gaze, sharp brown eyes taking it in. “The Star Drive is fried, at the very least.” R hissed through his teeth at Feuilly’s words, head to one side.

“What connectivity do you have?” R asked. “Please tell me you have a D-7 port…” Feuilly was already nodding. 

“We have a D-7 port,” R grinned, rubbing his hands together.

“Excellent, take me to your NavCom.”

They all trooped back inside, Bahorel in the lead, heading in the direction of the Bridge. Enjolras followed them, not entirely sure what a mechanic would want with the NavCom, and curious to find out. He watched as Grantaire pulled a variety of cables from one of his pockets. He sorted through them, discarding those not wanted into a small pile on Combeferre’s chair, before settling on the one he needed. He blew on the connector and then rolled up his sleeve. Enjolras’s eyes widened. Just above his elbow joint on the back of his arm R pressed at the skin, and then gave it a twist, as though removing a cap. Enjolras caught a glimpse of black and metal before R pressed one end of the cable into what was clearly a port. He then turned to connect the other end to the NavCom. Enjolras glanced around him and was glad to find he wasn’t the only one staring.

“You’re a droid?” He hadn’t meant to be rude, and Enjolras wondered briefly if that was an appropriate question and what the usual etiquette would be, but Grantaire just laughed.

“No, I’m human. Just a few… modifications,” he was staring at the port as though waiting for something. He tutted, and poked the NavCom twice. It beeped at him, but then started to whir. R smiled, and looked over to Enjolras. “Enough for me to run a full diagnostic on your ship, anyway.” Grantaire’s gaze shifted, his attention changing inward as though he was staring at something no one else could see. Then his fingers began to move across the NavCom. 

“R is the best biomechanic in the universe,” Feuilly said quietly, as though not wanting to disturb. Grantaire didn’t reply, only shaking his head, but the strange smile was back.

“I grew up on a droid farm,” Grantaire offered in explanation after a few moments of silence, “I think I learnt binary and programming before I learnt to read human languages. Then I trod on a Moon Mine when I was 11.”

The room collectively winced, even Bahorel and Feuilly who had heard this story before. Enjolras glanced down involuntarily at Grantaire’s legs. He obligingly lifted the cuff of his trousers, revealing a glint of metal.

“You know, my ex said it was the most beautiful thing about me,” he met Enjolras’s gaze with a playful smile “I like to think of it as a compliment.” He turned back to the NavCom, but kept talking in a light, careless tone. “So I started small, exploring my limits, seeing what I could do with the leg to make it more… fun. Then I figured, why stop there?” Enjolras was sure he was staring, but there was something hypnotic about the way Grantaire spoke. “More recently I branched out with an inbuilt communicator, a short-range teleport,” he paused for effect, “and a few other little fun gadgets. Metal detectors hate me.” R grinned darkly. 

“Isn’t that illegal?” Enjolras remarked, finding his voice at last. He ignored the way Courfeyrac turned pointedly to give him a look. 

Grantaire snorted. “Shout it louder, the Royal Guard didn’t quite hear you.”

Enjolras lapsed into a somewhat sulky silence, while everyone else continued to watch as Grantaire’s fingers flew over the NavCom. He felt as though there had been an undercurrent to Grantaire’s conversation that he was somehow missing. Meanwhile, the man in question muttered on to himself, now focussed entirely on the NavCom, shaking his head and tutting. Then he made a triumphant noise.

“Ok,” he turned back to his audience, “So your Star Drive is definitely fucked, but you knew that. Good news about the pumps, though, I can fix those no worries. And I have a few other parts I can probably help you with.” He stood back, unplugging himself from the NavCom. “Also you really need to clean your Starboard engine filters, if the NavCom is anything to go by, I’m surprised they’re not screaming in protest.”

“We had noticed a noise,” Combeferre commented dryly, glancing to Feuilly who held up his hands in defence.

“Hey technically that’s not a mechanical issue,” he protested. R laughed.

“You’ve probably got half an asteroid belt up there. Don’t worry it shouldn’t take too long.”

Grantaire and Feuilly spent the morning with the fuel pumps, while the rest of the crew went to investigate the engine filters. Sure enough, they were clogged with dirt and space debris, and cleaning them kept them all occupied for some time. In the end they filled three large crates from the landing bay, wheeling them out to be sorted by the droids fussing about the bay. Just as they cleared the last of it, they heard the rumble of the pumps as they spluttered into life. 

“Well that’s a good sign,” Joly commented, brushing his hands on his trousers, and then brushing his trousers with his hands. 

“All done,” R confirmed, cleaning his hands on an old oil rag. “Star Drive?” 

The Star Drive was in the very heart of the ship, down a considerable number of ladders. The long-suffering drive sat silently in its casing, and R tutted at it in sympathy as he approached. He reached out to release it from his housing.

“I’ll need to take this poor creature back to my workshop to see if I can resuscitate it,” he said lightly. “You guys can come with, unless you want to wait here, I don’t mind.” 

A few moments later, the ship secured, the whole crew made their way out of the port and into the city. After six months in space, walking in fresh air and natural sunlight felt like heaven, even if the surrounding city was not so easy on the eye. Port cities were always more utilitarian than aesthetically pleasing. The population changed as ships came and went, with mostly anonymous crews. The few locals that called Corinthe their home made money from those that passed through, be it through trade or services, or hospitality. And always above them, just visible against the sky, the outline of the Tuileries Space Station.

R’s workshop took them away from the city, off the main streets and through shuttered alleyways. Occasionally a speeder passed over head, but R kept walking, not bothering to look up, and the rest copied him. They walked in an increasingly tense silence as they got further from the port, and there was palpable relief when they reached their destination. 

The workshop was not what Enjolras had expected. For someone who was all about biomechanical body modification, the workshop resembled a farmhouse shed. Worn tools hung from the walls, there were stacks of drawers all labelled, and as Enjolras inspected them he could see they were filled with different sized screws and washers. 

“Make yourselves at home,” R waved to the room at large before setting the Star Drive down on a workbench. The crew drifted through, looking about them with interest.

“DON’T TOUCH THAT!”

Joly froze, poised to sit on a seemingly innocent sofa. The others stared at it as though it were an explosive grenade. Then R cracked a grin.

“Nah, I’m kidding, it’s fine, it’s just a sofa,” he reassured a clearly terrified Joly, while the room filled with nervous laughter of relief. R disappeared into the back, while the others found places to lean or perch. 

“Sorry to be a terrible host,” R returned, carrying an old leather bag that he heaved onto the workstation next to the Star Drive, “but you’ll have to amuse yourselves.” He then turned to the Star Drive and began to unscrew the lid.

“Come on,” Combeferre appeared beside him, “we can discuss our next move.”

It was a good idea. It was nice to be able to think without the constant rumble of the engines. The crew huddled together, talking quietly at first, but as they relaxed the volume grew.

“We could go to Marius, he wouldn’t turn us away,” Bossuet suggested. Their former crewmate was based in a settlement three systems away – a rural planet with only basic technologies. When they had parted ways he had left an open invitation, and Enjolras considered the ramifications of taking him up on it.

“I’m wondering if we shouldn’t plan to strike back,” he mused. “Attack a Sovereign Cruiser, make a statement.”

There was a snort poorly-disguised as a cough from behind them, and everyone turned round. Grantaire waved them off signalling _don’t mind me_.

“Did you have something to say?” Enjolras glared at him, but got only a smile in return.

“I’m sorry, I thought you said ‘attack a Sovereign Cruiser’” he replied, shaking his head.

“It wouldn’t be the first one,” he replied shortly. R studied him briefly before he replied.

“No, I bet not,” he made an exaggerated sigh, “why are all the hot ones political…” R turned back to the Star Drive, leaving Enjolras to glare at his back before returning to the matter at hand. However, he barely made it two sentences before turning around again.

“Why do you say ‘political’ as though that is a bad thing? Bahorel told us you weren’t a Royalist!”

“Oh no, never a Royalist,” R agreed, screwdriver between his teeth, “but do you know how many Sovereign Cruisers there are out there?”

Enjolras didn’t respond, face pulled into a frown as he tried to work out what Grantaire was getting at, which side he sat upon, and whether it was wise to trust someone like that with their Star Drive. When he got no response, R looked up, eyes gentle.

“Eight thousand six hundred and thirty-two.”

There was silence.

“How do you know that?” Courf was staring at him, eyes wide. R looked down at his feet.

“The Port computers contain all sorts of information. That was the figure two months ago when the last one passed through.” The silence continued, and R twisted his screwdriver pointedly before setting it aside. “I shouldn’t have opened my mouth,” he said at last. “This is your meeting.”

“All opinions are welcomed,” Combeferre replied in a gentle tone. “Otherwise we would be no better than the Royal Family.”

“And I bet you’ve picked up all sorts of information that might be useful,” Courfeyrac joined in, but R just shook his head, not looking at any of them.

“We have to try,” Enjolras’s voice was clear and certain the quiet of the workshop. Finally, R looked up, meeting Enjolras’s gaze. After a few moments he nodded, a strange inscrutable look on his face.

“I know you don’t think we can,” Enjolras hated the way his voice trembled, and he wasn’t sure why this man’s opinion mattered so much to him, but he just needed Grantaire to understand. “We owe it to those around us to do our best, to give it our best shot. You could help us!” he was standing now, piercing R with a look, but R seemed to diminish before him, eyes back down on the ground. He shook his head once more. 

“I’m helping you now,” he said quietly, as though not wanting to be heard. He waved the screwdriver across the disassembled parts of the Star Drive. Silence returned to the workshop.

After a moment, Enjolras turned away, feeling disappointed. Conversation started up once more in quiet murmurs, and there were no further interruptions from the man at the workbench behind them.

Eventually they all lapsed into silence. No firm decision had been reached, no plans made. They broke up into smaller groups, with Joly, Jehan, Feuilly, and Bossuet playing a quiet card game, and Bahorel dozing in his chair. Combeferre pulled out his MiniCom so he and Courfeyrac could take another look at the star charts. And Enjolras just sat, watching Grantaire working almost without realising it, watching him sift through the scattered contents of the workbench, selecting and discarding, fitting, soldering and testing, as though none of the others were there. 

The shadows were starting to grow long again when Grantaire finally set down his tools and proclaimed himself satisfied. 

“It’ll need to recalibrate,” he said. “But after that it should get you to the other side of the galaxy and back for a long time to come.”

Before they left to return to the ship, Grantaire filled a bag with parts that he pressed into Feuilly’s hands with a friendly smile. Feuilly put up a token protest but Grantaire just waved him off. Then, wrapping the repaired Star Drive safely in a tarpaulin, they made their way back to the Liberty.

The Star Drive was easily set back on its mounting, and R set it to recalibrate.

“How long will it take?” Feuilly asked, inspecting the repaired drive. R opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by Bahorel clapping him on the shoulder.

“Enough time for a drink at least. My treat,” he exclaimed, steering R towards the exit. For a moment it looked like he would protest but Bahorel shouted him down. “You fixed the Star Drive, the least I can do is fix you with a tipple of your choosing.” Any awkwardness there might have been from earlier was seemingly forgotten. The Star Drive was fixed, the fuel pumps were working; soon enough they would be taking their leave of Grantaire and this planet, and talk of a bar and the promise of drinks seemed to lift everyone’s spirits. Grantaire took the sensible path and conceded defeat with good grace.

He led them to a bar several streets away. The metal detectors beeped angrily as he entered, but the girl behind the bar merely waved in greeting.

“Evening, R, the usual?”

“Cheers, Ep, and whatever these guys are having,” he replied, looking around for free table. The bar wasn’t too crowded, but most seats were taken. Eventually they found a booth towards the back, and some free chairs. Conversation settled easily enough, with Bahorel and Feuilly catching up with R, while the others listened to their tall stories. Enjolras watched and listened, trying to parse the man before him. 

It was clear to Enjolras that he was smart and knowledgeable. There was obviously a shared history with Bahorel and Feuilly which meant he was trustworthy. Apathy, then, must be the answer to the riddle of why such a talented man should settle on Corinthe, or perhaps more a lack of belief. It seemed a waste. The whole thing bothered him, but he seemed alone in his musings as everyone else around him – R included – drank and told wild stories.

The hour grew later, and the empty glasses on the table increased in number. Finally, R retrieved a small device from one of his pockets, and confirmed that the Star Drive was likely calibrated by now. Bahorel settled the bill at the bar, and the group moved out into the late evening.

The city was quiet, with just the first stars and the grey shadow of the Tuileries in the sky above them. They stood awkwardly in the street, the moment of parting at hand. Enjolras felt like he very much wanted to say something but the words were stuck in his throat.

Bahorel turned to Grantaire. He hugged him tightly, thanking him. Feuilly followed suit, and R gave them genuine smiles in return. Then he looked at Enjolras and his face became sober.

“Well, I guess this is goodbye, oh Golden Haired God,” he started, voice teasing but eyes sombre.

“You should come with us,” he blurted. “You could…” but R only shook his head. And then he stepped forward and hugged him, quickly, and Enjolras barely had a moment to return the hug before R was stepping back and clearing his throat.

“Bahorel, it’s been a pleasure,” he exclaimed. “If you need anything else, please by all means call on someone else.” He looked around the rest of the group, nodding. “Safe trip, folks” and with that, he turned on his heel and strode down the street. Enjolras watched him go before turning towards the port. 

“We should get going,” he said, face fixed. Combeferre placed a hand on his shoulder.

“If you want…”

“No,” Enjolras cut him off, shaking his head. He did want, more than anything, for reasons he didn’t fully understand. But Grantaire had chosen his path. The _Liberty_ was fixed. “We should leave as soon as possible.” 

+

Grantaire was three streets away from his workshop when he noticed the smoke curling into the sky, stark and black against the setting sun. _Oh no…_

He broke into a run, but he already knew what he would see as he rounded the corner; his whole workshop was ablaze. He stared helplessly as the flames flickering out of the windows. His whole life was in there, everything he’d ever worked for, all his tools, apart from the few cables and instruments in his pockets. The street stood empty, no crowd to exclaim or help extinguish the flames, which was odd. Unless…

“Shit,” R swore loudly as he realised the full implications of the fire, and he turned and ran back towards the port, hoping he wasn’t too late.

+

Enjolras stood with his hands behind his head, furious with himself for ever agreeing to come to this damned planet. As they had filed into the bay, they had been greeted by a troop of the Royal Guard, lying in wait for them, catching them completely by surprise. They were arrested at once.

Now the Royal Guard stood before them, guns raised, awaiting instructions. There hadn’t even been a fight, and Enjolras’s cheeks burned with it. 

Javert was looking especially pleased with himself. As Head of the Royal Guard, he had been in pursuit of the _Liberty_ and her crew for some time. And here they all were, on Corinthe, wrapped up and dealt with all in one go without any mess or fuss. He was delighted.

It seemed that despite their precautions, the ship had been recognised, and the Stellar Militia contacted. Enjolras couldn’t help but roll his eyes as Javert took great pleasure in explaining to them just how they had been traced back to the workshop which, alas, had been found empty.

“But don’t worry,” he assured them. “We took good care of that.” Enjolras’s heart sank, knowing full well what that would mean.

Then the Guard had returned to the Port and waited, knowing the crew must eventually return to their ship. “And here you all are,” Javert grinned, all teeth and no warmth. “Take them to my ship.”

The soldiers started to manoeuvre them towards the door, when Enjolras though he heard Bahorel’s earpiece crackle. Just as he turned his head, the lights in the landing bay went out, plunging them into darkness.

There was a series of shouts and a hail of gunfire. Enjolras punched roughly in the direction of the Guard to his left, connecting with the man’s face. He heard the gun drop to the floor, so he dropped down to reach out for it blindly. As he hands closed on the cold metal, he pushed himself up, intending to run in the rough direction of his ship, but a hand caught his shirt and pulled him back. He stumbled, kicking out. There was a grunt and he was free. 

“Secure perimeter!” Javert bellowed. “And get those lights back on!” The lights flashed on momentarily, and Enjolras got a brief look at his position and the rest of the landing bay, before they went out once more. He changed direction and ran towards the nearest wall, hoping to follow it round and find a door.

“Control, what the hell is going on?” Javert’s voice came from somewhere to his left. Enjolras moved in the opposite direction, wishing he had a communicator, but suspecting he knew who was behind the sudden blackout. Sure enough a taunting voice filled the bay, crackling over the loudspeaker.

“Oh dear, you didn’t secure the Control Room,” Grantaire’s voice echoed off the walls. “And now just anyone could walk right in and… disable your flight computer.” 

Enjolras laughed, in spite of his precarious situation. Grantaire must have logged himself into the Port Control Mainframe. From there he could control everything; lights, doors, systems, communications. He could progamme the droids to defend them, or barricade the doors. Regaining his senses, Enjolras ducked out of sight as one of the Royal Guard found a torch. It flashed round the room as Javert continued shouting orders, despatching two squads to the Control Room.

“Oops, and there go your Com links” Grantaire’s voice gleefully announced. Enjolras turned at the sound of someone approaching, gun raised as he peered into the darkness. 

“It’s me,” Bahorel hissed, and Enjolras relaxed. “I’ve got R on the Com he’s talking me round the room. I’m going to get the others and get them to the ship.” Enjolras nodded. “R is going to put the lights back on, can you cover me?”

“Yes,” Enjolras replied. Bahorel grinned and disappeared. Enjolras took position behind some storage crates, waiting in the dark, and listening to the chaos unfolding around him. Then the room seemed to explode with light. 

At once the gunfire started up; he ducked down behind his crates before reaching up to return fire. The Guards were concentrated in formation by the door to the corridor where one of the service droids was pelting them with paint tins. Across the room, Enjolras could see Joly and Bossuet, well protected by their position but with no way to the _Liberty_ without crossing in front of the Guard. 

Just as Enjolras started to think that darkness was preferable to this stalemate, there was a hissing from a collection of pipes along the wall above the Royal Guard. At once, the room began to fog up with the escaping gas, and the Guard backed in the corridor, shutting the door behind them in consternation. Enjolras reminded himself to keep calm, that it was extremely unlikely Grantaire would release noxious gases on purpose. 

“Quick,” Combeferre appeared, Courf behind him. “Get on the ship!” One by one, they emerged from their defence points, but Enjolras lingered, staring towards the door. 

“Enjolras, come on!” Courf stood at the top of the ramp, and Enjolras moved to follow him when he paused. He heard the door to the corridor swish open, and a figure emerged through the fog. Enjolras’s heart rose, only to thud back to his boots when he saw who it was.

“Freeze!” Javert had his gun raised, point blank range at Enjolras. The head of the Royal Guard stepped slowly towards him, fury contorting his face. Enjolras stared right back, and behind him he heard a soft thud, followed by the unmistakable sound of the ramp to the Liberty raising. A strange calm washed over him. There was no escape possible for him, but he was all right with that, so long as his friends got away safely. He could live with that, even if it was only for a few more minutes.

“I should just shoot you where you stand,” Javert spat. Enjolras straightened his spine, saying nothing. 

“Yes,” a shaky voice came from behind him, startling them both. “You should. You should shoot both of us in fact,” and Grantaire rose up from behind the same crates where Enjolras had been not long before. He walked towards him, both hands raised. Enjolras gaped at him, wondering where on earth he had sprung from. Javert merely eyed him suspiciously.

“Shoot us both,” he repeated, voice sounding more certain as he reached Enjolras’s side. He offered his hand to Enjolras who could only stare at it, not fully understanding. 

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said gently, hand waiting. Enjolras took a deep breath and clasped Grantaire’s hand. As their hands met, R snapped his fingers. At the same moment, Javert fired, and Enjolras’s world turned upside down.

+

Short-range teleport, anyone will tell you, is a dreadful way to travel. 

“Courf get us in the air!” R was shouting, lying on the floor of the _Liberty’s_ 2nd deck corridor, holding his side. Enjolras lay beside him, trying to breathe. R reached out to him, clutching his hand and squeezing it, the touch oddly reassuring. 

“Sorry about that,” R wheezed. “I didn’t really have time to warn you.” Enjolras tried to focus but he still felt discombobulated. R waved his fingers in the air, as if that gave any explanation. “I don’t really use it much, because of the side effects, and definitely not twice in a matter of moments.”

Finally Enjolras felt everything click into place. R had used his internal teleport to shift them a short distance from outside the ship to inside. Grantaire had saved his life. 

Grantaire looked almost bashful as he smiled across the corridor. “Told you I had a few useful gadgets.”

Enjolras sat up. The engines of the _Liberty_ roared into life, and she started her ascent. He pulled himself up to his knees and closed his eyes, trying to convince himself to stand up. 

“You ok?” R shuffled over, looking concerned. Enjolras stared at him, feeling centred and warm, unable to keep the smile from his face. He leaned forward, reaching out to cup R’s cheek. R’s eyes widened, but didn’t pull back as Enjolras kissed him. 

“I’m fine,” Enjolras smiled, sitting back on his heels. For once, Grantaire seemed lost for words.

When they eventually appeared on the Bridge, everyone had the decency to ignore R’s red cheeks and Enjolras’s even redder lips.

Only Courf gave them a knowing look. “Well,” he said, as Enjolras took his seat, “Where to, Captain?”

**Author's Note:**

> Title shamelessly stolen from Han Solo (who made a lot of the modifications himself).
> 
> Other working titles for this fic include "I am the droid you're looking for" and "I lost my heart to a star ship trooper"
> 
> Huge thanks to Sarah, and also to Claire, for letting me waffle at them about this


End file.
